


Seize the Crown

by chiaroscure



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Hair Brushing, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Improper Use of a Rosary, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Under-negotiated Kink, everybody's having a good time there's just not a lot of communication about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26540776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiaroscure/pseuds/chiaroscure
Summary: Nandor wore his hair like a crown, in the absence of a real one. He took great pride in it, explaining to Guillermo over and over why long, thick, black hair was prized in Al Quolanudar. Servants used to vie for the privilege of combing it for him.Guillermo escalates his nightly routine of brushing Nandor's hair.
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless
Comments: 24
Kudos: 138





	Seize the Crown

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to uv_duv for helping me comb out the tangles in this fic!

Nandor wore his hair like a crown, in the absence of a real one. He took great pride in it, explaining to Guillermo over and over why long, thick, black hair was prized in Al Quolanudar. It illustrated his fitness to rule, transforming him from a mere warrior with an impressive physique (a dime a dozen back then, honestly) to a man of powerful and terrifying beauty. The poets had written about his regal mane; the people of every land he visited coveted and desired him in equal measure for his hair; servants vied for the privilege of combing it for him. Nandor’s hair alone was more important than most people’s _whole lives_ , apparently.

Guillermo was glad that such speeches were always delivered while he stood behind a seated Nandor, brush in hand, so he wouldn’t see Guillermo rolling his eyes. Admittedly, most people didn’t have someone whose job it was to tend to their hair at the beginning and end of each night, so there was some truth to the claims even now, but they were still, well, a lot.

Which was not to say, if he found himself in the position to have to compete with someone to care for Nandor’s hair, he wouldn’t. He loved the slide of the silky strands between his fingers, the weight of the hair all gathered in his hands, the excuse to touch him without awkwardness. It was easily one of his most intimate jobs as a familiar — sometimes even more than undressing his master.

And Nandor’s hair _did_ look good. Guillermo took excellent care of it, and his care showed. Thanks at least in part to him, Nandor was right: he did have enviable, lust-inspiring, beautiful hair.

Still, though, there was only so much vanity rambling Guillermo could bring himself to listen to after ten years.

And after months of killing a lot of vampires very, very competently.

And after Nandor finding out about even _one_ of those vampires. Shouldn’t he do him the courtesy of at least not rehashing the same old speeches about himself, knowing even a fraction of what Guillermo was capable of?

“Ouch, Guillermo!” Nandor flinched when Guillermo distractedly yanked the brush through a small tangle.

“Sorry, Master,” Guillermo said, not managing to feel very sorry.

“That is okay, Guillermo, but be more careful next time. I do not wish for my hair to be broken, you know.”

“Of course not, Master.”

Nandor huffed, but relaxed back into his chair, allowing Guillermo to continue. There weren’t many knots to avoid in Nandor’s hair by this point in their ritual, but a few did still remain. Guillermo reached for the fine-tooth comb upon finding another, leaving the brush in Nandor’s hair so he could find the knot easily, but stopped with his hand just barely extended.

 _This is so petty_ , he thought, before yanking the brush hard through the tangled strands.

Nandor yelped, shooting forward in his chair and twisting to glare at Guillermo.

“Why did you do that? Was I not just saying to you, ‘Guillermo, be more careful because I do not want my hair to be broken’? That did not feel like you were being very careful!”

“Sorry, Master,” Guillermo said again, not trying especially hard to fake an apologetic expression.

Nandor watched him warily for a few seconds, but did eventually lean back into his original position. Guillermo, however, noted that his shoulders looked a little more tense than they had a moment ago.

He set the brush aside to pull Nandor’s hair back again, the other hand reaching for the oil to be combed through it next. With his hands around his master’s hair like this, he could more easily feel the way Nandor tipped his head back in response to Guillermo’s motions than he could when using the brush. He loosely wrapped a wayward lock around his finger, intending to smooth it back into place, but hesitated. He could feel exactly how still Nandor went in the tension on the inner bend of his knuckle.

He tugged with a curl of his finger. The air hissed between Nandor’s teeth, his posture going rigid. Guillermo waited for Nandor to reprimand him, push him away, make him stop.

But he didn’t.

Guillermo held his breath and pulled again, experimentally.

The noise that escaped Nandor’s throat did not sound like an objection. It hung in the silent room for a split second before Guillermo let go of his little lock to grab a fistful of his master’s hair and _yank._

 _What am I doing?_ the sensible part of him wondered, but the surge of power that hummed through him more than answered that question. If he wasn’t so over-caffeinated he wouldn’t have done it, but he _was_ , and he was frustrated, and he had been for a long time without anything to do with it, and the startled, guttural moan of, “ _fuck,”_ from Nandor did absolutely nothing to make him feel like this was a mistake. He could sense the tension of his master’s ramrod-straight back, the shallow heaving of his chest, even the tightness of the way he swallowed with his jaw so tightly clenched. Nandor could stop this if he wanted to, and that was both reassuring and annoying, so Guillermo tugged again, enough for the chair to tip backward off its front legs for a split second.

“Guillermo, what are you —?”

“I already know about your hair,” Guillermo interrupted. “You’ve told me this before. I brush your hair every night; I know all about it. And I know that this —” he jerked Nandor’s head again just to illustrate the point, “— won’t break it.”

Nandor’s breath shook as he exhaled. Guillermo glanced away from his handful of thick hair, over Nandor’s shoulder, to where his hands were clenched atop his thighs. And between them, through the fabric of his pants, the proof that Guillermo was not misinterpreting his reaction.

He let out an incredulous breath that was not quite a laugh at the same time that he became suddenly and starkly aware of his own arousal almost brushing the back of the chair. If he just tipped Nandor back a little more…

“Get up,” he ordered, yanking Nandor out of the chair instead, toward the chaise.

Nandor stumbled to obey, back bent awkwardly. Guillermo considered flinging him down onto the cushioning — he had always thought many times about Nandor doing that to him — but that was wrong. The second he lost his leverage, this was over. So instead he climbed up on the sofa, forcing Nandor in turn to kneel on the seat in front of him, his back against Guillermo’s stomach. Guillermo tossed the vial onto the upholstery behind him and put his now-free hand on Nandor’s hip to stabilize him. He didn’t expect Nandor to cant back against him in response, but he did. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Guillermo muttered to himself, his own hips involuntarily grinding forward as Nandor made a pathetic feral whining sound. Five minutes ago he was doing one of the chores he did every night, listening to a boring (if poetic) rant about Nandor’s hair for the hundredth time, and now this? It almost couldn’t be real. Surely it would disappear if he thought about it too much.

He hauled Nandor up flush against him to prove to them both that this _was_ happening. He braced him there with a hand at the bottom of his sternum so he could feel the vampire’s chest heaving with his rapid, shallow breathing. It wasn’t necessary; Nandor didn’t have to breathe, and he certainly didn’t have to breathe _like that_ . Guillermo leaned his forehead against Nandor’s cool shoulder, biting his lip to keep from groaning at the mixed fear and arousal Nandor’s body was betraying. But Nandor could get out of this easily if he wanted to if he really _was_ afraid; to think that Guillermo had spent ten years brushing his hair and never once gotten any indication that this sort of handling would be appreciated…

“You’re so weird,” he said under his breath.

Nandor thrashed a bit at that, biting out, “ _unacceptable,_ Guillermo! You cannot —”

“Shut up,” Guillermo cut him off, with a roll of his hips, “ _Master."_

Nandor moaned, one of his hands reaching back ineffectually to grab at Guillermo’s side, though it was anyone’s guess whether he was trying to push him away or pull him closer. Using the hold he had around his chest to keep him in place, Guillermo shifted his grip on Nandor’s hair to give himself better leverage. He took advantage of this new control to swing his elbow over one of Nandor’s shoulders to pull his spine more vertical, and hooked his chin over the other so that he could trail his hand down the front of his master’s linen shirt, electrified nerves feeling every dip and swell of the flesh beneath it despite the rising urgency of his own movements. Nandor’s ragged breathing rang in his ears as he pulled the bottom hem of the shirt up to trail his fingers over the fastenings of his pants. This was so intimate, the skin of Nandor’s throat so close that Guillermo’s cheek would be against it if he just tilted his head a little bit…but the thought was interrupted when Nandor wriggled again as if to get away, and Guillermo dug the point of his chin punishingly into Nandor’s collarbone.

The lacing was easy. Guillermo had laced and unlaced things thousands of times. With hardly a thought the pants were undone, Nandor clawing ineffectually at him from the difficult angle. Getting the pants off would be trickier, with one hand occupied; they would not slide down naturally over Nandor’s hips; he would have to —

“Take them off,” he demanded. Nandor shoved back against him, making Guillermo bite back a groan but otherwise accomplishing nothing.

“You can’t talk to me like this, Guillermo; very rude, for a familiar to order —”

Guillermo wrenched his head back into an uncomfortable angle and growled, “ _please_ take off your pants.”

Nandor hissed as Guillermo grazed the skin of his throat with his teeth, hands flying to the waist of his pants. Guillermo held him fast while he struggled to get out of them, contorted as he was kneeling on the sofa, but he managed it with some effort.

“So I guess you _can_ undress yourself, and you just don’t _want_ to,” Guillermo commented.

Nandor’s jaw opened against his temple as he started to respond, but Guillermo moved his free hand to his ass, effectively cutting off whatever he was going to say. The cool smoothness of Nandor’s skin felt better as he kneaded it than he had imagined, the heavy muscle coated in a layer of fat for his fingers to sink into, the fine hair that grew denser the more bravely his hand moved. Ignoring his original reason for telling Nandor to undress himself from the waist down, Guillermo slid his fingers up into the crevice where the hair grew thickest.

Guillermo had never heard anyone make a noise like the one that tore out of Nandor’s throat.

“Fuck,” he breathed. Nandor’s arched greedily back into him as his fingertip found what it was searching for, trying to speed up the process.

Another yank on his hair, another yelp.

“Don’t be impatient, _Master_ ,” Guillermo said too coolly for how hard he was as his fingertip teased this intimate skin. “Getting you ready for things is my _job_ , right? Don’t rush me.”

“ _Guillermo_ …” Nandor dragged his name out in a pitiful, strangled parody of chastisement. But, at least for now, he held still.

He had to know how Guillermo’s heart was hammering. Guillermo’s jugular was so close to his ear; he had to be able to hear it. He could probably _feel_ it in Guillermo’s chest against his back. Guillermo could act out cold domination, but he couldn’t hide the reality, that this was not something he expected to be doing, and he didn’t know where he was going with it. He had no plan; he had just made a mistake with a hairbrush, and now he was here, playing at power, and for some reason that was utterly beyond him Nandor was letting him do it.

He didn’t know if it turned him on that Nandor _could_ stop him but didn’t, or if it was annoying that even now he still didn’t have any real control. He could tug at Nandor’s hair all he wanted; deep inside, Nandor could stop this at any moment, and Guillermo was an anxious familiar, out of his depth caught up in a vampire’s powerswap roleplay.

And then that brought up the uncomfortable question: since he clearly wasn’t doing whatever this was _to_ Nandor, was Guillermo doing it _with_ him, or _for_ him? Was this just another fucked up service for him to provide to his master?

Nandor chose that moment to thrash around again, using a little too much of his vampiric strength to push back on Guillermo’s finger. Punctuating Guillermo’s thoughts.

Well, it didn’t have to be like that. Nandor might be a little more careful if he knew that Guillermo had been ready to overpower vampires at a moment’s notice for months. Regardless of the circumstances.

He jerked his hand away from Nandor to pull a rosary from his shirt pocket. It was a good one, the chain sturdier than most rosaries. The silver crucifix sizzled as he held it to the small of the vampire’s back. Nandor lurched away from it reflexively, but Guillermo’s hand holding onto his hair with an iron grip stopped him from getting too far.

“Guillermo, what —?”

“I told you not to rush me,” Guillermo said, the coldness of his voice bordering on a snarl. He dragged the silver cross lightly up Nandor’s spine satisfied by the way he had tensed in what appeared to be genuine uncertainty about where this was headed. When he reached his upper back, Guillermo looped the chain around Nandor’s throat and let go of his fistful of hair so that he could take hold of both ends of the rosary. The beads didn’t sting vampires’ skin as badly as the cross, but it would be painful — reins that would give Guillermo easier leverage than having him by the hair.

“Don’t get pushy with me again,” he commanded. Nandor let out what could just as easily have been a groan of despair as an aroused moan. Reaching around him for the vial of oil he had tossed onto the sofa in front of them, Guillermo took the opportunity to check for evidence one way or the other.

He smirked. Nandor was so hard the lack of stimulation had to hurt — all from his familiar holding a rosary to his skin. And he wasn’t about to get help any time soon.

 _You’re so weird_ , Guillermo thought again, though he himself wasn’t faring any better. 

The vial was easy to open with one hand, fortunately. Guillermo made quick work of dipping two fingers inside to slick them to return to what he had been doing before. Nandor lurched when Guillermo slid the first inside him unceremoniously, and again for the second. Each choked sound from Nandor prompted him to use his fingers more roughly. Nandor’s jerky struggles against the chain in Guillermo’s hand felt incoherent, like he couldn’t decide if he was trying to get away or to push himself back harder against the scissoring movements.

Again, Guillermo thought _what the hell do I think I’m doing?_ as he tightened the rosary and replaced his fingers with his cock. For a moment he felt as if he was outside of himself observing the scene, the vampire he had served for going on eleven years all but trembling, body taught but ready for him, a ring of reddening skin around his neck. Under Guillermo’s control.

 _Can I actually do this?_ he wondered, but a feral mewl from in front of him cleared his doubt. He flicked his hips forward in one clean, merciless stroke.

Nandor moaned loud enough that Guillermo could feel the reverberations vibrating in his bones.

He had to close his eyes to keep his composure. He held completely still for a second, pulse ripe at the ends of his nerves, trying not to lose it. This was real. This was real. Holy fuck, this was really happening.

Nandor bucked against him impatiently and Guillermo snapped back to reality, yanking on the string around Nandor’s throat and slamming into him again. Nandor howled, thrashing.

“Shut up,” Guillermo hissed, grabbing his hips to hold him in place. “You make so much fucking noise. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

Nandor whined, but, amazingly, obeyed. Guillermo felt him swallow against the rosary string. He gave another harsh thrust, but, other than a high whimper, he heard nothing more out of his master.

“That’s better,” he laughed under his breath, and _really_ got started.

Under different circumstances, he would ask how much rough sex hurt vampires. If he had to guess he would say a normal amount, but that it didn’t last long — and if his (woefully and/or mercifully sheltered) knowledge of what sorts of things vampire chose to get up to, he would guess most of them liked it. If this was something they had planned, he would want to know if he was going as hard as he felt like he was, and he would be sure Nandor would have a way to communicate if he wasn’t into it. But as it was, he had no idea: he fucked Nandor with everything he had, on as equal footing as he was willing to forcibly wring from the situation. Nandor’s skin under the rosary was starting to smoke now, Guillermo noted as he drove into the vampire with everything he had pent-up inside himself for the last decade. He was almost completely certain that Nandor could still shake him if it was _actually_ too much, but not sure beyond a shadow of a doubt.

That sliver of uncertainty hit Guillermo’s anger before his affection. He spun the beads around his wrist so that he could wrap his fingers around Nandor’s hair again and yank his head back. Still, Nandor made next to no sound, just a pained cry barely louder than an intake of breath.

His master’s obedience annoyed and satisfied him at once, and with a growl he bent the vampire forward viciously with the crucifix burning into the back of his neck. He pulled his cock fully out, waited for the sound of Nandor inhaling, and _slammed_ back in. Nandor’s back buckled, and Guillermo let go of his hip with his left hand to claw savage red lines down it, his own pulse hammering in his ears.

He caught sight of Nandor’s fingers wrapped tightly around the arm of the sofa he was now bent over. Something in him reacted to the sight of his master’s elegant, strong fingers clinging so uselessly at the wood of the chair, and he paused. Was he really this angry? Nandor’s spine was twisted uncomfortably, his silken hair tangled in Guillermo’s fist, his throat seared bloody, taking every punishing stroke Guillermo dealt him. Was this what he wanted? Was this what Nandor wanted? Guillermo slowed his onslaught, and realized Nandor was whispering something barely audible against the cushions.

“ _Yes_ ,” he heard in a strained ecstatic tone, when he cleared his mind to listen. He ground forward in his rhythm, and was rewarded with a stifled but unmistakable, “ _Guillermo_.”

The sound of his own name in such reverent tones from Nandor’s lips — after all this time — made his heart skip. He leaned forward, resting his cheek between Nandor’s shoulder blades, so that he could hear more easily: _yes, Guillermo, yes, yes, mmf, yes, yes, ung Guillerrrmo yesss…_

That was all the encouragement he needed.

Soon — too soon — the heat coiling low in his core wound so tight he knew he couldn’t last much longer. The strange scent of Nandor’s holy-burned skin filled his nostrils as he panted heavily from the exertion of bending the vampire to his ravenous will. Nandor’s breathing was coming in ragged gasps now too, though with almost every one came another fevered link to his litany of inarticulate prayers. Guillermo’s nerves were on fire from the cool, tight clench around him but he couldn’t ease up. Nandor himself had only the sofa bottom to rut against but Guillermo knew he was close too, and the knowledge that being hurt like this was enough to do this to him was dizzying. Without thinking he pulled his fist full of hair and beads up, dragged Nandor’s shoulder to his mouth, and _bit_. 

Nandor came with a desperate growl like a trapped animal. It was one of the best things Guillermo had ever heard.

When Nandor slumped forward, though, reality began to edge back into Guillermo’s mind. He was so close but he hadn’t finished yet, and now a low buzz of anxiety hummed in his thoughts as to whether or not he _should_. This had all started because of a mistake with a hairbrush, and it was clear now that it had only carried on because Nandor let it. Nandor could come to his senses at any moment and order Guillermo off of him, punish him — dismiss him, even. He would deserve it, if he did. There was still a visible line of red up Nandor’s back from where he had dragged the crucifix, damning evidence of how out of line this was, although at least the somehow more intimate marks from his fingernails had already faded….

Guillermo’s motions slowed to a stop. He hurried to let go of the hair clenched in his fist and unwound the rosary from Nandor’s burn-raw neck with an anxious guilt weighing heavier on him with every breath that Nandor took. He was about to pull back, apologize profusely, offer to put something on Nandor’s throat, anything, when a hand, loose with the exhaustion of climax, slipped onto his.

“Keep going,” Nandor said, voice tired but clear. And shockingly, unmistakably, affectionate.

Guillermo obeyed, moving once, twice, head spinning and the rosary sliding from his fingers between the back and cushion of the chaise.

“Guillermo,” Nandor murmured again, and with a fluttering sob, Guillermo followed him belatedly over the edge.

When he felt that he could, he removed himself from his kneeling position and sat in stunned silence on the chaise at Nandor’s feet. His master unfolded himself and sat too, somewhat more gingerly than normal. Guillermo fidgeted, hyperaware suddenly that sitting beside Nandor without invitation to do so went against their typical etiquette.

He waited for Nandor to say something, and was about two seconds from standing to dress himself when, finally, Nandor turned to look at him. Three thoughts popped into Guillermo’s mind at the same time: _you’re going to kiss me; you’re going to kill me;_ and _oh, I have to quit for good this time_.

But Nandor didn’t say anything. Just looked at him in a way Guillermo did not remember him ever looking at him, except maybe since their very first meeting. Just like then, he couldn’t take the silence.

“I, um,” he said, and swallowed. “I should fix your hair.”


End file.
